That smell. It’s so familiar, where does it come from? I can’t place it, in the physical sense, the here and now. It follows me, it’s evanescent, it comes and it goes. But in the meaningful sense, the then and never again, its place is ingrained in me forever. It’s in my blood, under my skin, on my lips. It’s you.

I find you in my sheets, where you haven’t lain. In my new room at my new place, in a different town, a different state. I find you there when my eyes are closed and the sun is away. I find myself in your arms, where I lay many times. In those same old clothes, with those same old songs playing. I find myself there when my eyes are closed and the sun is near.

You roll over and I awaken, and find that I’m smiling. I quickly remember I have nothing to smile about. I roll over and take a deep breath, desperate to find a trace of you again. But you’re gone. I can’t control when you show up. No point trying to sleep again, it won’t come. I throw my legs over the edge and put my head in my hands. No point trying to cry again, it won’t come.

The stark white of the bathroom and the bitter blandness of my morning coffee reinforce that this is my reality. No more bleary-eyed smiles or sweet kisses. No more finding you in the kitchen frying eggs a little too long for my liking. You’re gone. Forever. No more. Then and never again.

I have moved on, in the physical sense. The places where our memories were made are not places I frequent. I’ve abandoned them, like you abandoned me. I’ve passed mountains and rivers, crossed oceans and continents. But in the meaningful sense, I can’t get away from your face, from your touch, but especially from your smell. They hold on to me.

And when the sun is away and I close my eyes, I find you in my sheets and I hold on to you.